


if we knew the end (would we even start?)

by MithrilWren



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Love Potion/Spell, Not A Happy Ending, Possibly Unrequited Love, The Traveller is Ambiguously Creepy, all the consent issues that implies, i repeat: love spells are a bad idea and this doesn't go well for anyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MithrilWren/pseuds/MithrilWren
Summary: Jester finally takes the Traveller up on his offer and decides to push her relationship with Fjord to the next level, courtesy of some dubiously-moral magical techniques. It goes wrong as quickly as you'd expect: read, instantly.





	if we knew the end (would we even start?)

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in some ambiguous time period after the Nein have returned from Xhorhas to the Empire. Yasha is here because I said so. (And because this was written prior to recent spoilerific events.)

_ [There are many enchantments I could teach you.] _

_ I don’t know if  _ that’s _ the way I want to do this. _

_ [How do you know, unless you have tried?] _

_ Well, for one thing, I don’t even know if he feels the same as me. I mean, he would probably tell me if he felt like that. _

_ [I have watched you both, my sweet. His eyes have lingered on you often. Just as mine do.] _

_ …Really? Do you think… he’s watching me? Or he’s  _ watching _ me? _

_ [Heh.] _

_ Oh, Traveller, what should I do? I really like him, but I don’t think he’d say anything even if he did like me back. He doesn’t like talking about stuff like this. You know; fun, sexy stuff. He gets all flustered and starts biting his lip and it’s kind of cute but also not very helpful. I don’t know what he’s thinking. That’s really frustrating, you know? _

_ [He frustrates you. And yet you love him?] _

_ I didn’t say  _ love _. I just… I want him to like me too. Like that. _

_ [And I want you to have everything your heart desires, Jester. It hurts me to see you unhappy.] _

_ I… _

_ [Let me help you.] _

_ I… _

_ [Have I ever let you down?] _

_ No, of course not! _

_ [So?] _

_ Um…  _

_...alright. _

_ [Yes?] _

_ Yes? _

_ [Excellent. You’ll need to get him alone.] _

_ Well, that part’s easy. I’m very charming. _

_ [That you are. Hands like this.] _

_ Like this? Oo, that looks kind of naughty. _

_ [Stay on task, my dear. Now the words.] _

_ Traveller, this is so exciting. I mean… it’s a little scary. But mostly exciting. You know I’ve wanted this for a very long time. _

_ [I do.] _

_ You’re always so good to me. _

_ [It’s only what you deserve. Now, focus. Repeat after me.] _

“Bind me now, this heart, my heart, with a line that does not fade.”

The last muttered word of the enchantment draws like a thread from Jester’s tongue. She dizzies with the pounding flow of arcane energy as it pours out of her. It’s beyond anything she’s cast before, anything her fingers know how to shape. The energy has a life of its own, pulling from her chest and her heart and sizzling beneath her skin. It’s not a spell level she knew she could cast. It’s exhilarating. It’s terrifying.

Fjord’s dark eyes glaze liquid black and his hands go slack in hers, and for a moment Jester is desperately fearful her meagre grasp wasn’t enough, that the magic’s gone sour. But then his fingers stiffen and his head shoots up and he’s looking at her with wide eyes and he’s  _ looking _ and oh, her head’s spinning, she can’t breathe-

Fjord pulls his hands out of her tentative hold and clears his throat. Why couldn’t it be a little lighter in this tent? She can’t see what shape he’s in. Is his skin flushed? Do his ears twitch? Is his heart beating as fast as hers?

“I, uh- really don’t want to keep you up any longer.”

That’s his voice. What’s he saying? It’s hard to hear over the rush of blood in her ears.

“’Night, Jester.”

He’s speaking, but he’s not looking at her anymore. He’s standing and brushing past and stepping out of the tent and Jester shivers in the cold wake of his departure. The tent is very lonely without him. 

She gives Fjord five minutes to come back, but the ground is hard to kneel on and she doesn’t hear anything. No returning footsteps, no godly whisper in her ear. Jester balls up her hands and presses them to her eyes. Her head hurts, it hurts, but no worse than the ache in her chest.

_ Traveller, I don’t think it worked. _

_ [] _

_ Can you tell me what I did wrong? _

_ [] _

_ Traveller? _

_ [] _

_ Can you help me? _

_ [] _

_ Are you there? _

No footsteps, no whispers. Her heart starts to slow, just a little.

After another five minutes, she leaves the tent. Not much to see except for the little fire at the center of their encampment, and Beau keeping watch, lazy as a cat by its warmth. She drops down to the ground by their small collection of firewood and Beau eyes her strangely but Jester twists out a smile, holds it until Beau stops looking so closely. 

For lack of anything better to do, Jester pulls a little spool of twine from her bag and starts twisting it around her fingers. Her throat feels sore, like she’s been shouting all night long. Like there’s still something aching to come out. 

What was it her singing tutor said, those many years ago?  _ Remember your head voice, darling. Make your words dance, light as lilacs on the breeze.  _

When she finally speaks, her voice peals like summer bells, sweet and unconcerned.

“Have you ever played cat’s cradle? It’s really fun. Here, I’ll show you.”

One loop over the other. Practiced patterns. An easy way to pass the time. Beau relaxes into the simple game, which gives Jester the leeway to let a little bit of apprehension slip onto her face. She flicks her eyes from her hands to the darkness, searching for a trace of familiar dark leather between the trees.

There’s something brewing in her stomach, a sickening roil of humiliation, and disappointment, and something almost like relief.

_ Maybe everything will be ok tomorrow. It’ll be fine. Tomorrow. Right? _

_ [] _

_ [] _

_ [] _

_ \--- _

The Mighty Nein take a leisurely breakfast when they wake, because it’s a luxury they can’t usually afford. It’s strange, to not be in a hurry. The next errand is a simple supply drop for the Gentleman’s network, a mission extended courtesy of a cryptic letter from an even more cryptic courier. Compared to the fury that was the Xhorhasian landscape and the terror of their barely-successful rescue mission, the endless fields of the Dwendalian countryside are almost quaint.

Homestyle food, the kind they haven’t had in months, crackles over the coals of the dwindling fire: fried eggs, slices of wild green tomatoes, bacon sides spitting globs of grease at anyone who wanders too close, a bushel of aromatic mushrooms that smell of moss and springwater (browning in a separate pan, per Caduceus’s request). Jester’s stomach is too knotted up to be tempted. She nibbles on a piece of hard cheese and watches Fjord from across the makeshift cooking pit.

If anything, Fjord is actively  _ not _ looking at her, which tells her all she needs to know, really. 

He must have just gone back to his and Caduceus’s tent last night to sleep. That’s all it was. So silly to get worked up over just that. And obviously her spell had failed since he wasn’t acting like the tales said he would be, falling over her with kisses and sweet nothings and devotional sonnets. Her toes tingle, remembering all the stories she’s read and heard and spied in her mother’s bedroom.

She considers sending another prayer to the Traveller,  _ maybe we can try again, I’ll do it better this time! _ but catches the thought before it can escape her mind and find its way into the ether. It’s disappointing that the enchantment failed, of course. Really, so disappointing. But also… 

Saying those words last night was maybe the most terrifying thing she’s ever done, and waiting the rest of the night to find out if Fjord was coming back had been pretty terrible too, and this was all a very good idea but maybe, it’s also ok that things didn’t work this time. At least it gives her heart a chance to recover. She’s not sure it could survive another night of it beating so hard.

She’ll definitely tell the Traveller all that, the next time they talk. Waiting can be good! She can wait, to try again. He’ll understand.

Jester offers to take Fjord’s plate to wash for him, just to prove how very ok she is and how she is not being awkward and avoiding him and-

“I’ve got it, thanks.”

Fjord jerks the plate away from her outstretched hands, like they’re dirty, like he doesn’t want them near him. She searches his face, trying to understand the sudden coldness, but all she sees in his eyes is disgust and it stings like a slap. She’s left standing there, frozen, as he stomps away towards the communal basin and begins furiously scrubbing the dish.

Beau’s looking at her again with those piercing eyes, and this time Nott and Caleb are looking too. Jester usually likes having their attention. It feels nice, to have people looking at her. Usually.

“Ok! You got it!” she chirps at Fjord’s back, and tries very hard to keep her smile even and cheerful. 

Caleb goes back to his breakfast, but Nott keeps on staring, wide yellow eyes darting between her and Fjord. “Did you and Fjo-”

Beau’s hand clamps down on Nott’s shoulder. “Go bridle the horses. We should get a move on.” She looks at Jester like she wants to say something, but bites her lip and turns away at the last second. 

Jester makes sure to wait for Fjord to start loading up the tents into the cart before washing her own plate. Nobody’s watching her now. That’s good. The smile was getting very painful to hold.

\---

There’s a fairly established order to how they do things, now that they’ve all gotten used to travelling together. Caduceus drives the cart, with Nott occasionally taking the reins to give his arms a rest. Yasha and Beau trade off lookouts at the rear, and the spellcasters do their studies and preparations for the days ahead on jostling knees, tucked into their separate corners. Jester’s preparations are much simpler than Caleb’s – a few prayers, some little drawings to remind the Traveller that she’s here and she’s listening and that if he wants to talk, you know, about anything, she’s here…

Fjord generally spends the days slouched near the back, making small repairs to their armour and teaching Nott various sailor knots and taking shifts on rear watch. It makes it so easy to steal moments together. She can lean over to show him passages from her books or poke him in the ribs if he looks too sullen or ask him to darn her stockings to see if he blushes. 

They’re all just trying to stave off boredom, generally. He’s a good distraction. And there are moments, when their hands brush accidentally after a bump in the road, or when he leans over her to call a direction out to Caduceus, or when he steals her sketchbook to jot down something he’s been thinking about from their travels, that she wants to live in forever. It just feels nice to be next to each other. That’s all she wanted, really. A little bit more of that. 

Jester crawls over to Fjord’s side of the cart. Maybe she can apologize for whatever she did at breakfast to annoy him. But Fjord shifts to his knees as soon as his eyes catch hers, then hoists himself over the sideboard and onto the road. “Need to stretch my legs for a bit,” he calls to nobody in particular.

Jester barely catches the flicker of Beau’s elbow jabbing at Yasha’s side, and after a moment Yasha mumbles, “I’ll join you,” and hops off after him. 

A fragment of a hypothesis forms in Jester’s mind. It’s a nagging worry that only grows more insistent with each hour that Fjord plods beside the cart, just out of reach. 

_ Traveller, say just hypothetically, is it possible for a spell to do the exact opposite of what it’s supposed to do? _

_ [] _

_ Cause, I think maybe Fjord hates me now. _

_ [] _

_ Please, I know you’re busy, but can you help just a little? _

_ [] _

_ Please? _

Cart rides are usually the best time for praying since there’s nothing better to do, but maybe her heart just isn’t in it today. She’ll try harder tomorrow.

\---

The delivery to Zadash goes off without a hitch. Their contact is all smiles, pays them well, tells them the Gentleman is out of town on business and not to bother enquiring at the Evening Nip. 

“I don’t think he was being entirely truthful,” Caduceus murmurs as soon as the man strolls around the corner. Jester’s not always first to notice these things but that much wasn’t hard to guess. 

“Oh, well, maybe the Gentleman will be back next time we’re in town…” 

Does she even want to see a father who doesn’t want to see her? 

If the answer is yes, does that make her just a little bit sad?

Better not to think too much about it.

It’s Yasha who suggests the bathhouse, of all people. Jester doesn’t really want to go. It was Molly’s favourite place, and it doesn’t feel right to go without him. But if Yasha suggested it, it’s probably fine. She was his most special friend, so she gets to choose how they remember him. That’s just how these things are. She tells herself this, but her stomach is still all twisted up in knots as they enter the elegant building.

Nott pays for all of them, which is ironic at best considering they all know full well she won’t set foot in the water. She’s been paying for a lot of things recently. Says she needs to make it up to them for getting them all stuck in Xhorhas so long in service of rescuing Yeza, and after a while it seemed fruitless to keep protesting. 

Jester reminds herself to slip a few gold into Nott’s pouch after dinner. It’s her turn today.

They get a private room, same as the last time, and everything really does seem fine, right up until the moment that clothes start coming off. They’ve all seen each other naked enough at this point that the awkwardness of their first visit feels silly in hindsight. But Jester happens to look Fjord’s way just as she steps out of her skirt, and he freezes, face hardening behind the shirt pulled halfway up around his shoulders.

“…I think I might go back to the Leaky Tap. Not feeling well,” Fjord says finally, pulling the shirt back down. Jester hugs her arms closer to her bare chest. 

Say it. 

_ Oh no! Well, whatever you want, Fjord!  _

Just  _ say _ it. 

_ I hope you feel better soon! _

How long can she keep the group from realizing it’s only her he doesn’t want to be around anymore? Not much longer, if she doesn’t open her mouth and-

Whatever she was going to say is drowned out by a resounding  _ splash _ and the wave of water cascading over her bare feet.

Jester blinks at the afterimage of a blur of green and grey plowing into Fjord’s legs and sending him tumbling back into the center of the pool.

“Revenge, motherfucker!” crows a fully clothed Nott as she rolls into a half-crouch by the edge of the water, teeth bared in a victorious grin. Fjord comes back up sputtering, his soaked shirt hanging off one shoulder. He pushes the mop of black hair off his forehead, glaring at Nott, and then from the opposite end of the pool a low, dark chuckle begins to echo. All heads turn to look at Yasha, who lounges at the back with her arms spread wide along the tile edge. The faintest of smiles ghosts over her lips. 

Jester hasn’t seen her face light up in a very long time. Ever, maybe. Certainly not since before Xhorhas. Her own smile comes a little easier after that.

If Fjord meant to protest more about feeling unwell, the impact of the water seems to have knocked the notion right out of him, and soon enough everyone is in the bath. Even Nott sits crosslegged by Caleb’s head, blowing bubbles through the neck of a brass flute she pilfered from some poor student in the Tri-Spire. Fjord is still keeping his distance, but at least he isn’t actively running away. That’s a good sign, right? 

And there are some benefits to sitting on opposite ends of the pool. For one, she’s got a perfect view of what little remains above the rippling water.

He’s still wearing the shirt he was tossed in with, and his pants too. It can’t be super comfortable, but something about seeing that white linen almost transparent in the clear water, clinging to the hollow of collarbones and the divot of shoulders is mesmerizing. Goosepimples rise along the dip of her neck as a cool breeze drifts in from the hallway and she’s staring but she can’t help herself. It’s so hard not to fall back into daydreams, even if the reality is so much farther away than it was two days ago. A hand on her waist, the other wetting her hairline as it draws along her neck, and how nice it would be to return the kiss she didn’t get to feel the first time, to press her lips into the place where the fabric ends and the skin begins, to-

“Time to go, Jester.” Caleb’s hand comes down gently onto the water near her head, and little droplets of spray land on her cheek. She blinks and realizes the pool is nearly empty. The only people left are her and Fjord, who Beau is currently trying to drag out with a slightly less gentle approach.

“Oh, right, ok,” she says, and taking Caleb’s offered hand she clambers up the side. Behind her, Fjord insists he just wants one more minute.

_ ‘Not feeling well’, huh? _

Outside the safety of the steaming water, the air is impossibly cold, and Jester pulls her clothes back on as quickly as possible.

\---

Somehow they manage to go a week in Zadash without the whole thing ever coming to a head. Sure, they share the same inn and the same meals and the same trips to the launderer’s but it turns out it’s very, very easy to avoid someone in a city. Or to be avoided, more precisely. Everywhere Jester is, is somewhere Fjord is not. That much is painfully clear to even the most unobservant in the party, and the looks get more frequent and more concerned. Eventually, Jester gives up on trying to corner him because what’s the point? The spell that she so masterfully screwed up isn’t wearing off, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

In the end, she spends the week shadowing the Halls of Erudition, searching for an in. She doesn’t take Nott with her because Nott would tell Caleb and Caleb would be upset, she thinks. Tell her it’s too dangerous. Well, it probably is, but she’s lost the Traveller’s favour along with Fjord’s friendship and that’s at least one thing she can work on. How better to prove her devotion than to paint his name across their worst enemy’s doorstep? And really, Oremid Hass can go fuck himself and his shiny school. He doesn’t deserve it, not after what the Academy did to her friend. 

Getting in is easy-peasy. One quick Disguise Self and she’s a professor rushing back through the gates for a forgotten scroll, secure in the knowledge the actual professor is headed for the Pentamarket. The guards don’t even question her, just let her pass by, safe behind her waspish mask of feigned worry. She’d thought there would be better security, considering the remnants of rubble that still dot the base of the refurbished spire.

\---

The getting back out? Not quite so easy.

There are five sets of footsteps dogging her own, and her hands pressing pink and emerald and maroon handprints into the fabric of the haversack as she hastily shoves the paints into the opening. Two doors to her right and left swing open and a wave of dispelling energy washes over her like a warm breeze. The black robes dusting her feet shimmer and shorten and fold into blue pleats and she’s running faster than she’s run in her life.

In her panic, she almost forgets not to expect the Traveller’s voice when she calls out to him, and that’s a few more precious seconds gone. She ducks down a winding corridor and throws another message to the wind.

_ Nott, I did something really stupid, and now I’m trapped in the Halls of Erudition and I haven’t got many spells left please come help- _

For a second, there’s nothing but silence and the sound of Jester’s heavy breathing, and empty walls on all sides. She throws herself into the shadow of a curtained alcove just in time to hear the reply.

_ We’re coming for you, Jester! Just hang on! _

And she’s hanging onto it, that last thought, when the hands reach through the fabric and pull her back into the light, and her bones lock in place, and she can’t move her mouth to scream.

\---

Jester’s cell has no windows.

The stone beneath her skirt is slick with the condensation that drips from the low ceiling, and she sketches little animals in the pitted surface of the floor with her finger: a menagerie of familiar faces. She used to draw on her walls when she was younger, filling the empty space with forests of strange creatures, every single one with its own name and history. Then her mama gave her that first set of paints and papers, and she filled books with her imaginary friends instead.

She thinks she was unconscious when they brought her in here. That archmage knocked her out with a snap of his fingers, and now she’s in a cell. She doesn’t know where.

The mage didn’t ask any questions about Caleb. He thought she was just a common hoodlum, looking for kicks or credibility for having broken into such a prestigious school. She made sure he thought that. See, Beau? She is really, very good at lying.

“You definitely are, Jester,” she whispers to herself in a deeper tone, and adds the curl of a ribbon to the lion’s topknot before wiping the drawing away and starting another.

Given enough time, she could probably carve a stone out of the wall. Make her own little window into what lies beyond this little room. She’s done it before. She’ll do it again, if she has to. But she’s too tired tonight.

The faint runes inscribed into the metal around her wrists are cool to her cheek as she lays her head on her hands. No magic, no messages while these things are on. At least they didn’t gag her. She’s not sure she could bear that, not with the taste of Lorenzo’s iron bit still curdling in her mouth each time she lets herself think too long about chains.

_ Traveller? _

[]

If he didn’t come to her rescue then, why would he come now? This isn’t nearly as bad as that time. At least now it’s only her she has to worry about, not Yasha’s ragged breathing from the adjacent cell or Fjord’s nervous groaning at her side.

And somebody will come check on her eventually. They have to. This is civilized society. 

Probably. 

She really doesn’t know where she is.

Another drawing. Caleb takes up two whole stones, and by the time she’s finished the soft sweep of his tail the feline points of his ears have all but faded back into the grey. She starts again, lets her eyes slip closed, welcomes the darkness. 

In her dreams, the drawing comes alive. Claws grip the mortar by her cheek and scramble their way out of the stone, and then there’s a cat sitting in front of her. It mews softly, insistently.  _ Wake up, Jester. Wake up.  _ The cat’s yellow eyes blink, and she blinks back. When she reaches her fingers out to pet the creature, the shape is right but the hair feels all wrong – wiry and tangled instead of thick and soft. 

What was-

“Jester, wakeupwakeupwakeUP!”

Jester opens her eyes, and the yellow eyes squeeze shut in relief.

“Nott? You came?”

“Promised, didn’t I?”

Nott starts to work on her handcuffs with a lockpick and Jester lays there, staring past her shoulder and watching the flick of a speckled tail bounce in and out through the slit beneath the cell door. That means Caleb’s not far away, and the others too. They’re here, sticking their necks out to fix her screw up. Nott is risking capture and probably execution to rescue her from a cell of her own making. 

It feels so good to be loved. It hurts so much.

\---

“That was reckless, even for you.”

Jester tucks her hands beneath her thighs, hiding them under her nightgown. Her feet don’t dangle from the bed, but it’s a near thing. She watches Beau pace as she unwraps the blue linen from around her wrists in long, winding circles. 

“I don’t want to tell you what to do-”

_ Please tell me what to do, Beau, I don’t know what to  _ do _. _

“-but could you leave off the sacrilege for a while? For the rest of this trip, at least.”

“Are you mad at me, Beau?” Beau always says things honestly, and she wants to hear it, even if it hurts to know the answer. Better to know than to wait in silence. That way, she can start fixing things, somehow.

Beau stops pacing and flops down onto her back by Jester on the bed. “I’m… worried about you, Jessie.”

Jester laughs. “I’m fine, Beau.”

“You’re not. You’ve been acting very not fine since we left Alfield.” She catches Jester’s eye. “Fjord too.”

_ Oh. _ So that secret is out. If Beau caught on, then the rest are sure to follow. Her heart is starting to beat too fast again.

“I saw you two. That night? You were alone in that tent for, like, twenty minutes before Fjord came out. Did something happen?”

“We were talking,” Jester says weakly. “Just talking.”

“Mhm,” Beau says. “Sure.”

And they were just talking, only she’d been talking to the Traveller too, and he’d told her what to say and what to do and how to do it, and every word was perfect but she still messed it up somehow, how was that even possible-

“Look. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But talk to someone. Tell Nott. Hell, drag Caduceus out for a stroll, he lives to stick his nose in other people’s drama.” Beau puts her hands behind her head and stares up at the ceiling. “Or, you know. I’m still here, Jester. Whenever you need me. I’m here.”

“Ok,” Jester says. Her voice sounds small, far off. “Thanks, Beau.”

“Anytime.” 

Beau eventually curls onto her side and Jester follows suit, and when Beau puts her hand out, palm up, Jester threads their fingers together without a second thought. This is something she was offered. This is something she’s allowed to take. She’s starting to suspect all of this is punishment for not making the distinction sooner.

\---

They spend their last night in Zadash in the Silken Terrace, because they can. Breakfasts and baths and soft beds, all in the course of a week. It should be the best week of Jester’s life. It really, really isn’t.

There are only four rooms left at the inn, but that’s par for the course. The usual roommate assignments split off, but so does Yasha for the evening, and suddenly they have a one room surplus. Caduceus offers to take it to give Fjord a little more space from their usual cramped arrangement, and Jester is stupidly grateful because she didn’t want Beau to jump at the chance and force her to admit she’d really rather not be alone tonight. 

It’s late by the time they get checked in and finish dinner and Jester nearly forgets to run and check the mail for anything from the Ruby. To her delight, a little package is waiting. Crinoline and silk wrap another vial of purple ink and an embroidered sash that matches the silver in the tips of her horns. Smiling genuinely for the first time in days, she bounces back to the table. Caduceus is the only one left, still sipping on the dregs of his tea. 

“Oh,” he calls out to her. “Beau wanted me to tell you that you two are in room 3 now, up in the terrace. Something about another guest getting sick and leaving early.”

“Ok! Thanks for letting me know,” That’s fine, Beau had the key anyway. She bids Caduceus goodnight with a soft kiss on his cheek and runs up to the third floor, darting around a pair of escorts as they make their way back down to the lobby. 

Room 3, Room 3… the door is on the left side of the hall, and when Jester turns the handle it swings open easily. “I’m coming in, Beau, turn around if you’re naked-”

The door closes behind her with a click, and she finds herself face to face with a familiar half-orc who looks at her like an apparition of death itself.

“Um,” he says. Jester flushes. He’s got his leathers off, and all that’s left is his white undershirt and dark trousers, and he’s halfway through unlacing his boots, and the sheets are silken and expensive and the furniture refined and the carpet lush beneath her leather soles. 

She indulges herself in a wave of self-pity. Isn’t this how it was supposed to end? Fjord would lay her down on a bed like this, hike her skirts up and kiss her senseless against the pillows, and there would be only one name on her lips and it would be his, before it’s swallowed again in the press of his mouth. That’s what she was promised. The books said she could have it. The Traveller said she could have it. She’d spied her mother having it twice daily through the hole in the curtains. Isn’t she deserving of love? 

Fjord just sits there, watching her warily. Jester opens and closes her mouth like a fish, flailing for what to say.  _ I’m sorry, Beau’s playing a silly prank, haha, I’m going to go now…  _ And then she’s stuck heading back to her room and avoiding Beau’s pointed questions for the rest of the night. 

No.

She’s not going to leave it like this. 

“Fjord,” she says, and takes a step forward. He’s still watching her. That’s good. She takes another step and sits down on the bed beside him. The mattress shifts as he inches a little farther from her. Not quite as good, but he’s not running away. “Why are you mad at me?”

It’s better to know. It’s always better to know.

He chuckles, a low, derisive sound, and it stings till she looks at his face and sees that he’s got his chin buried in his hands, fingers pressing against the place where his tusks are just barely starting to grow in, and he doesn’t look angry. He just looks  _ sad _ .

“Jester, I’m not… I’m not mad at you. I know I’ve been snappish, and that’s not fair to you, but… I’m not mad. I promise.”

“Then why? Why don’t you like me anymore, Fjord?” 

Fjord shudders, pressing his face deeper into his hands. The sharp edge of his tusk starts to dig dangerously deep into the skin of his thumb, and a small prick of red blossoms at the point. “That’s not… the issue, Jester.”

“Then why,” and she reaches out to his hand, to try and get him to stop pressing so hard just for a second, but he pulls away just as quickly. 

“ _ Don’t _ ,” he growls, but she’s quicker than him and she manages to wrench the hand away and in return he grabs her wrist and shoves her back onto the mattress and then he’s over her, and it’s nothing at all like the stories, and Jester is suddenly afraid in a way she’s never felt before as Fjord’s eyes grow wild and his hand presses her deeper down into the sheets.

“Fjord?” she whispers, and he shudders and lets go of her wrist before scrambling backwards.

“I’m not… feeling well, Jess,” he mutters. “You need to go.”

“You look pretty healthy to me,” and she’s not stupid, she knows what he meant, and neither of them laugh. Jester pushes herself up until she’s sitting, facing Fjord as he curls back down into the same hunched form.

“… You’re not going to go away, are you?”

“Never,” she says.

Fjord shudders again, forcing his words out through gritted teeth. “You remember that night, back in Felderwyn? That one, fuck, when Nott took us to the river?”

“Yeah,” says Jester. “Of course I do, Fjord.”

“You asked Beau if she was secretly in love with you, and it was a real funny joke. And then you asked Caleb. And that’s the moment when I realized what a fool I’d been.” His laugh is harsh, biting with reproach. “You were telling me all along, weren’t you, that it was a joke? The Oscar thing, and the offers, all of it. And I still-”

Fjord chokes off on the word and Jester doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand-

“I didn’t let myself admit it, not until that night in the tent. Think I was trying to hold off the inevitable. But I- I  _ want _ you, Jester. I want you like I didn’t know I could ever want anything in my life.” 

Jester feels her breath leave her body.  _ Fjord… wants… _ “Oh,” she says.

Fjord curls his lip over his teeth. “It’s  _ disgusting. _ ”

A second shockwave of cold ripples through her at the self-recrimination in his words. “Fjord, I don’t understand,” she says, crawling forward. He doesn’t flinch away this time, but he sits very still, and she doesn’t touch him. “You… want me?”

“Yeah, Jester. I do.” He drags each word through shattered glass, and they all cut on the way down. “It’s all I think about. No matter what I’m doing, I can’t stop thinking about it. I see you and it’s like I lose my goddamn mind. Something just… takes over.” He stands abruptly, and Jester nearly tumbles as the mattress shifts without his weight. “I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

“Whatever you’re sorry for, you don’t have to be, Fjord, I-”  _ I love you,  _ she almost says, but does she? 

_ Does _ she?

She was sure she did. 

“You don’t have to be scared, Fjord.” Jester is so, so frightened. She doesn’t know how she didn’t see it sooner. There’s no fury in his eyes, just nauseous, heart-pounding fear and she never wanted him to look at her like this. 

“There’s something wrong with me,” he says hollowly, staring into the space between his hands. “I see you and it hurts so much not to… not to touch you, and I need to keep away from you because sometimes I don’t know if I could stop myself.” He shudders. “How did I become this person?”

_ How did I become this person? _

“Must be the orc in me,” he says bitterly, and Jester’s stomach bottoms out because she’s seen him get better about that part of him and to see him blame  _ her _ magic on his blood is more than she can take. “But I’ll control it. Always have. I won’t be that person to you, Jester. I just… need space.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “And that’s all there is to it.”

_ Traveller, make it stop. Traveller, take it off him. Whatever I did, put it back, I can’t be the reason he feels like this. _

“So,” he says, spreading his hands. “Now you know.”

With every second she stays silent, desperately praying, Fjord’s eyes grow more distant. “I… uh. I’m going to go.” And he makes for the door. But before she can reach out, her vision is eclipsed by a darker, shadowed shape: a verdant hood, a wicked smile.

_ [Why the tears, my darling?] _

Sick relief mingles with the thrum of  _ stop him, save him, call him back  _ and she speaks with her mind and pushes past with her body.

_ Where have you been? _

_ [I meant to give the two of you privacy. But by the state of things, perhaps I stayed away too long?] _

His hand is already on the knob, turning, pushing. Leaving.

_ Traveller, what do I do? How do I stop this? _

_ [Why the sudden change of heart, Jester? Isn’t he what you wanted? And now he wants you too. There’s no need for any pain. Give yourself to him, and he will love you eternally.] _

_ I don’t want him to want me if I’m making him do it. _

_ [There are few who fall in love without encouragement. Is this any different than the charm of a wink, the lure of a smile and a becoming hemline? Your magic is a part of you, like any other.] _

_ If you won’t help me, then get out of my way. _

_ [Your heart is bound to his now. That is the bargain you made. The line cannot be broken, by you or me.] _

No one is coming to save her. Fjord is already past the threshold, and he’s leaving her alone, and  _ he loved her _ , before she did all this, before the river in Felderwyn, he  _ loved _ her, and there’s nothing else to do.

_ I can’t break the line.  _

_ But there’s something else I can break. _

“Fjord, wait.”

He stills. Jester’s voice drops to a whisper.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

She tells him everything. She tells him the Traveller’s offer, and what she did, and why she did it. Impatience, boredom, lust. Nothing else matters but the look of betrayal in his eyes as she explains what she’s done, how she opened his mind and put something there not his own, how she made the choice for him. She watches as he gaze slides from self-recrimination to disbelief, to a deep-seated hurt that tears years from his sallowed cheeks and leaves him a boy, new and fragile and lost.

“Why?” he asks, like he’s never seen her before.

“Because I could,” she says, and watches as his heart breaks. Something silver and tight loosens around her heart and falls away, and Fjord takes a shuddering gasp as the magic that binds them fades. 

And Jester runs. 

\---

There’s a window, somewhere in the West, that has the stain of sugared fingerprints and tiny palms. The room sits dark and empty, but if you flew high enough, you could catch the edge of little paintings ringing the walls in the midnight gloom, flashes of yellow and orange and aquamarine. 

Jester goes there to hide when things become too much, unfolds the vision like silk and wraps herself in the familiar visage of home. 

Her feet are dangling over the edge of the bridge when Beau finds her, and she has to blink the shades of green out of her eyes before she can focus on Beau’s brown skin, her blue eyes, her weary look filled with too much understanding.

“So Fjord came to see me,” she says, and she’s looking past Jester towards the stars, her arms propped on the stone railing. “He asked me if I knew.”

Jester keeps silent. 

“Asked him, ‘knew what’? And well… guess I know now.”

Jester taps her fingers against the railing. 

“He’ll forgive you, you know. He’s upset, but he asked me to come find you. Before you did anything stupid.” And Jester doesn’t miss the way that Beau’s posture is loose but the muscles in her shoulders are tight and primed to lunge. 

“Think I already did the stupidest thing possible. It’s ok if you hate me, Beau.” 

“Eh, but I don’t want to.” Beau kicks off and jumps up beside Jester so their thighs are brushing, and her body is warm against the night chill. “’Sides, I think I’ll let Fjord make that call.”

“I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Beau says, and slings her arm around her shoulders. “You did. But we’ve all done fucked up things, and you came clean. That’s more than most of us do.”

“Fjord shouldn’t forgive me.”

“But I think he will anyway. He loves you, Jess.”

_ Yeah. He did. _

“Will you come back?”

“Okay.”

Jester lets Beau take her hand and lead her back through the street and to the Pillow Trove’s painted doors. The common room is empty. Jester wonders if Fjord told anyone else. Somehow, she doubts it. He’s always been one to lick his wounds in secret. She knows this, better than anyone.

Her head falls to the pillow with the exhaustion of wrung out tears, and she’s asleep in minutes.

_ [You cannot break the line, so you break the heart instead. Clever. That’s my girl.] _

_ … _

_ [Jester?] _

_ … _

_ [Goodnight, my sweet.] _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ Goodnight. _

**Author's Note:**

> I can't be the only one who was majorly creeped out by the Traveller's original offer. I don't think canon-Jester would ever actually take him up on it. I hope she wouldn't. You never know. I imagine the in-canon version would probably play a bit more comedically than this :)


End file.
